On Saturday, I had “a moment” with the clerk at L ‘Occitaine.
She was asking me all sorts of questions: What’s the due date?; Do you know the baby’s gender?; and How has your pregnancy been?
I don’t know why I opened up to a total stranger, but I found myself telling her that pregnancy has been (mostly) amazing, and this encouraged her to open up and say the same. We agreed we’d never felt healthier, fitter, or sexier– and that we’d never really felt any of those things about ourselves before, certainly never expected to feel them after gaining 30 extra pounds, and for that reason, were still in slack-jawed awe.
I’ve bitched about people crossing the privacy line– touching me, asking inappropriate questions, and the like–but there have been a few encounters that have just made my day. A few weeks back, Francisco and I were walking in the West Village when a cranky looking woman walking her dog stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, changed her expression completely, and said to me “You look radiant. Congratulations!” Given that I don’t think I’d even taken a shower yet, I was particularly pleased. Then, tonight, as we were walking to the grocery store, a woman rolled down her car window. She *had* to talk to me. “You are SO beautiful,” she said. And as if that wasn’t enough, “You look great.” I’d just woken up from a three hour nap (totally knocked out by the glucose test this morning–disgusting), gotten out of the shower, thrown on a sun dress I bought at Marshall’s for $8, and had my worn out flip flops–the only shoes I’ve worn for three weeks–on.
But damn, I felt sexy.